The start of the new year always has me feeling undone, unsettled, and a bit down if you want to know the truth. The rush of Christmas is over, it’s really cold, and life feels heavy. You have to do all that thinking about what the new year should look like and the many positive changes that need to be made to make you a better version of yourself when all you really want to do is climb back into bed for a long winter’s nap and it gets real, really fast. Sometimes a little too real.
But this year, I’m trying something different. And so far, I’m really kind-of liking it. I didn’t make a single resolution. I have no grand plans for the year. I’m not trying to lose 10 pounds or cut out sugar or wine (heavens no!), but I did stumble upon two mornings last week, after the kids had returned to school, where I took a couple hours to simply sit, read, and write – in the quiet silence of a house momentarily at rest. Those two mornings re-acquainted me with myself in such a profound way that I have made a commitment to give myself time each morning to read, write, and sit in the silence of my own good company. To remind myself of who I am, who I want to become, to remember what being in my own company really feels like when I give undivided attention to myself and my thoughts.
I’m currently reading two books, “The Invitation” by Oriah and “Living Beautifully” by Pema Chodron, and both are fueling my mind and mornings in a way even my coffee and run cannot (though both of those are a must too!). Living Beautifully describes three commitments one can make to live a more authentic life: committing to not cause harm, committing to take care of one another; and, committing to embrace the world just as it is. And the book, The Invitation, is based on Oriah’s poem of the same name. The poem is as follows:
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hid it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
This poem is a call to action for me. To live deeper and more authentically – from my spiritual core and not from my reactionary ego. It challenges me to be a better person on every level but most importantly, to be truer to myself wherever I find the opportunity. Only then, I am realizing, will I have the full attention, intention, and energy to be whole-ly present for all those other beloveds in my life: my family, friends, colleagues, students – all whose lives I touch and who touch mine.
This January is a different kind of January. I can feel it. Especially in the mornings, when I am reading, writing, and getting centered in myself. It’s big and it’s little. Giving myself the gift of time. In our swirling, busy lives, I can’t think of a better way to usher 2013 in and help shape its trajectory as my 43rd year unfolds.
